


Like a Torch in the Night

by ryankellycc



Series: Burning Deep, Burning Bright [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Asahi works at Madame Puddifoot's, Celebrity Crush, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hogsmeade, Long-Distance Friendship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Quidditch, Self-Doubt, Suga's a good friend, mentions of bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 18:41:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8907649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryankellycc/pseuds/ryankellycc
Summary: Nishinoya Yuu was there, in Madame Puddifoot’s, with a hand on his hip, and he pointed straight at Asahi. “Ha! So Ryuu wasn’t lying!”Asahi stood dumbfounded, unable to manage more than a low grunt of confusion.“You really are here! In Hogsmeade! Of all places!” “I... I am?” Asahi stammered.[Alternatively, what happens when your longtime Quidditch celebrity crush busts through the door of your workplace and turns your life upside down?]





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_london_almond](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_london_almond/gifts).



> Jude, months ago: Your Harry Potter asanoya one shot was cool and I'd read it if you expanded it.  
> Me, months ago: SWOOOOOOOOOON! For their birthday I'm gonna write a cute lil 3k thing and it'll be all fluff and super adorable because I love Lauren and they deserve something light and fun and beautiful.
> 
> Well, that escalated quickly. 
> 
> Story and series title from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ywdnsyfkEp8), one of my all-time faves for one of my all-time faves.

Asahi cupped his tea with both hands and brought it to his face. The steam rose and wound its way around his chin before dissipating into the still quiet of the café. It was Monday morning, which meant Madame Puddifoot’s would remain calm for at least another couple of hours, and he would be spared the mortification of trying to squeeze between the tightly-packed and highly-decorated tables for just a little while longer.

The rays of morning sun highlighted the light dusting of snow on the steeply-pitched roofs across the street and glittered like something out of a dream. Asahi had noticed that, when the light came through the large front windows at the exact right time, the pinks and greens of the tablecloths and fine china leapt off the tables and danced with the shine of the gold light fixtures on the walls. 

It had been a little over two weeks since he moved to Hogsmeade to work at Madam Puddifoot’s, and every day that he woke up he felt like he had to pinch himself. He wondered if that would ever go away, if he would ever take it all for granted, like so many of the Hogwarts students that snogged over scones and terrorized each other with tricks from Zonko’s. Asahi scolded himself for being unkind, but he really did hope they all appreciated what they had. 

The oven timer went off and the smell of freshly baked scones wafted through the air. Asahi carefully removed the hot tray and set it on the counter to let the scones rest before he moved them to the cooling racks. 

There were footsteps outside and Asahi heard the loud murmuring of a large group of people, which was unusual for the time of day. He tried to ignore it, but curiosity got the better of him and, clearing small circle of condensation from the foggy windows, he took a peek outside. Whoever it was, they were swarmed with reporters and photographers, flying quills, and flashing bulbs, and Asahi couldn’t make them out until the crowd thinned and passed by the front window.

He closed his eyes tightly and opened them again. The person in front of the crowd was none other than world famous keeper, alumnus of Hogwarts, current and most recently added starting member of Japan’s Quidditch team, Nishinoya Yuu. Asahi tensed in surprise, but continued to stare as Nishinoya (THE Nishinoya, Asahi repeated to himself) posed for the cameras, winked at the reporters, and jumped up and down as if the action could be an answer to their questions.

He did his best to ignore both the tremors in his hands and the waves of nausea that tumbled through him as he sifted through the layers of his utter disbelief. The crowd towered over Nishinoya but his presence was the largest on the street, and Asahi would bet a week’s pay that it was the largest in all of Hogsmeade. 

On the pitch, Nishinoya lit up, darted out from nowhere, and never failed to save the day. Gryffindor’s guardian deity. Asahi had always wondered what it would’ve been like to have him as a teammate, to have been able to trust himself to play his hardest, knowing that someone was behind him. Would things have been different? Asahi swallowed hard. Another treacherous thought rose like the bile in his throat; would they have been friends? He pulled himself away from the window and went back to the scones, raising his wand to lift the scones onto the porcelain pedestal. 

The door opened and a burst of cold air made Asahi jump, but he kept his wits together enough to keep the scone aloft. With a sigh of relief, he redirected his attention to front of the café and the floating scone fell to the floor.

Nishinoya Yuu was there, in Madame Puddifoot’s, with a hand on his hip, and he pointed straight at Asahi. “Ha! So Ryuu wasn’t lying!”

Asahi stood dumbfounded, unable to manage more than a low grunt of confusion.

“You really are here! In Hogsmeade! Of all places!” 

“I am?” Asahi stammered. 

He wracked his brain and tried to figure out what Nishinoya meant. Had he been looking for Madame Puddifoot’s? The building wasn’t hard to find, but he had seemed distracted by the reporters. He supposed that maybe it might’ve been easy to miss, but Nishinoya attended Hogwarts for seven years. He couldn’t have not known where he was, right? Asahi rolled his shoulders in an attempt to relax. He had a job to do, no matter who came through the door or how many fallen scones littered the floor. “Oh, well, I’m glad you found us. Can I get you something? The scones just came out of the oven?”

Nishinoya narrowed his eyes and stood on his toes to look at the fresh scones piled high behind the counter. “I guess I wouldn’t say no to a scone, seriously, dude, they smell amazing. What are they, cranberry? Wait,” Nishinoya stopped, “do you actually use the oven? Like, without magic?”

Asahi tugged on the lacy strings of his apron, suddenly self-conscious. He knew it was ridiculous, because he could do so much more with a flick of his wand, but he liked the tactile nature of muggle-baking, with its rules and steps and grunt work.  
He found himself nodding and then withering under the intensity of Nishinoya’s megawatt grin. 

“That’s so cool! I don’t how to use any of that muggle stuff!” He made a show of sniffing the air. “This is awesome, but I wasn’t really talking about finding Madame Puddifoot’s or scones. I meant that it was you, Azumane Asahi, here, right under my nose! On my old stomping grounds! Like, what a small freaking world, right?”

Every muscle in Asahi’s body tensed and he gripped the sides of his pants. His name on Nishinoya Yuu’s lips... How did Nishinoya even know his name? Asahi placed a steadying hand on the counter.

Nishinoya laughed loudly and it rang off every surface in the room. He leaned his elbows on the counter and lifted his feet off the ground. “What’s with the deer in the headlights look, Asahi-san? You’re kind of a big deal.”

“Me? But no, you, you’re Nishinoya Yuu,” Asahi stuttered ineloquently. He felt like his soul had left his body and he was watching someone else pull the strings, like a gruesome marionette. 

“I know! I’m pretty fantastic, but I’m super pumped that YOU know me? Man oh man.” Nishinoya rubbed his hands together and clapped. “This is a freaking dream come true. You’re the best left chaser to come out of Durmstrang in probably, like a hundred years! And now you’re here! In front of me!”

“I’m here?” Asahi parroted. His brain was still trying to process the impossible interaction unfolding between them.

“Azumane Asahi,” Nishinoya said to himself. “Asahi-san! Y’know, it’s funny, I looked up to you a lot. Everyone thought I was weird for following all of your matches. People still give me crap about it, can you believe it? I wanted to go see you play in person, but your school is all secret and stuff, so that never panned out, which is a bummer, because, now, looking at you, it feels like a kick in the pants. The good kind,” he clarified brightly.

Amazingly, despite buckling knees, live-puppet Asahi managed to grab a plate, pick out the biggest scone on the tray, and push it across the counter. Nishinoya munched happily and crumbs fell out the side of his mouth. He moaned with pleasure and Asahi brought his hand up to clutch the fabric of the apron covering his heart. 

“So good. It’s cool that you work here,” Nishinoya said with a stuffed mouth. “Ryuu passed by here the other day and mentioned someone looking like you working,” Nishinoya gulped down another bite, “and I almost shit myself. Kept thinking it was too good to be true. Hey! We should play!”

If Asahi could’ve told his past self that he would meet Nishinoya Yuu, the subject of many embarrassing fantasies, athletic and erotic and platonic and everything in between, and that Nishinoya Yuu would know who he was, past-Asahi would’ve ascended to the heavens. Present Asahi wasn’t faring much better, but the abrupt mention of Quidditch sent him hurtling back to solid ground. He wasn’t great at dealing with surprise social situations so far removed from his normal café script, especially with people he had looked up to for years, but disappointment took his hand and walked him through it, like an old friend. “I just work here now, and, I mean, wouldn’t it be better to practice with your team?” 

“Nah, and you’re super good at baking, but I want to play Quidditch with you. See that arm in action,” Nishinoya flexed. 

“Oh,” Asahi hesitated. He dropped his shoulders. “Wow, that’s… that’s really nice of you, but I really don’t play anymore,” he said softly. 

Nishinoya crossed his arms over his chest and the crumbs from his jacket fell to the floor. “I know,” he said solemnly. “But you were so good. When you were in the zone, I swear, it was like watching a god or something. I had pictures of you all over my walls. Still do obviously! Ryuu thinks it’s creepy, but I give exactly zero fucks.”

Asahi looked at the palm of his hand and curled his fingers. The feel of the Quaffle in one hand, the other on a broomstick. Bludgers whizzed through the air, robes whipped in the wind. Asahi looked up from his hand and at the face in front of him, the person he used to watch from thousands of miles away, in a cold, dark room, at a cold, dimly-lit school, with cold-hearted teammates, without any friends, without any support, without any reason to continue playing. Maybe he loved it at one point, but he didn’t know anymore. His face burned. “Sorry, but I don’t like Quidditch anymore.”

“I don’t believe you,” Nishinoya snapped. He slammed his hands on the counter and Asahi stepped back with his palms in the air, knocking a few empty trays off the table. They clattered violently on the tile floor. 

He struggled for words but the air was too heavy and his throat was too dry. Nishinoya came to some sort of conclusion in Asahi’s silence. “Well, I’ve made up mind. I won’t play in any official matches until you agree to play with me.” He held up a finger. “At least once!”

Panic surged through Asahi as he ran through the international Quidditch schedule in his head. “But your match, next week,” Asahi forced the words with a wince, “against Bulgaria. The qualifier!”

“Yup! It’s a huge match and one of my first as a starter.” Nishinoya picked scone out of his teeth. “Oh, Bulgaria’s where most of your former teammates ended up, right?”

“If you don’t play…” Asahi started, ignoring the question about the people he tried to forget.

Nishinoya shrugged. “We probably won’t win.”

“But your team needs you.”

“So play with me,” he challenged.

It was a simple request with a simple answer, a simple problem with a simple resolution. But it wasn’t, really.

Nishinoya hummed and brushed crumbs from his shoulders. “Well, think about it. I’m staying at the Three Broomsticks for exactly one week, before we leave for the match. We’re gonna practice at Hogwarts, home turf for lots of us and all. Thanks for scone, Asahi. Hope to see you around!” He walked out the door without looking back.

“Bye, Nishinoya,” Asahi whispered into the empty dining area, frowning. He glanced over his shoulder at the calendar on the wall and counted the days on his fingers before collapsing into one of the gilded chairs and disrupting the place settings by resting his elbows on the table and letting his head fall into his hands.

* * *

At the end of the day, Asahi waved his wand to shut off the lights and trudged upstairs to his room above the café. He sat on his bed and looked out the large window, toward the intersection with High Street. 

After his morning encounter, the rest of the day had been a blur. He kept asking himself if it had actually happened. He had confirmed that Nishinoya and the rest of the team were in town, because it was all anyone talked about as people began to stream in for their morning pastries, but had Nishinoya actually gone into Madame Puddifoot’s? Had they really spoken?

And the most bizarre thing of all, that Nishinoya knew his name, had looked up to him? The same way Asahi had followed him throughout his career? He couldn’t have been serious about not playing, right? Nishinoya loved his team, loved Quidditch, and what was he?

He tossed and turned in bed for an hour, before sitting up, grabbing his wand, and shuffling downstairs to make a cup of tea. He snuggled into his robe and leaned against the counter.

Asahi thought about getting in touch with Suga, the only person he really considered a friend. They had met when they were much younger, while Asahi’s family vacationed in a small muggle town on the coast of France. He had wandered away from his family, into a restaurant and back to the kitchen, fascinated by the hustle and bustle. Suga had been at work, cleaning dishes, with a bandana wrapped around his head to catch the sweat. Even then, elbows deep in dirty water, Asahi could’ve sworn he glowed. He had never seen someone so beautiful, and, taking advantage of that, Suga had roped him into washing dishes by hand and, instead of being gross, it was fascinating.

He went back the next day, and the day after that, and their friendship grew as Suga taught him more and more about muggles. They had only found out they were both wizards when Asahi’s shirt caught fire and Suga's first instinct was to pull out his wand. 

When Asahi’s family left France, despite being thousands of miles apart, they kept in touch. Suga struggled with his gender identity and sexuality all through his years at Beauxbatons, and helped Asahi through the same. He shuddered to think about what he would've done without Suga's support, and he hated the idea of repaying Suga with his Nishinoya Yuu-induced existential burden, especially at this point. After graduating, when Asahi was working odd jobs around Durmstrang castle, Suga had given up magic and moved back in with his family to look after his younger siblings as his mother's health deteriorated. Suga never admitted it, but the situation tore him apart. Asahi read it on his face every time he saw it. 

So, he decided not to bother Suga, but who else was there? Calling his parents was out of the question. They had not been pleased with his career choice and decision to move out to the UK, not when they paid for his top-notch education and bragged to their friends about him being next big star in the world of international Quidditch.

When his mug was empty and he couldn’t avoid it any longer, Asahi went back upstairs, reached underneath his bed and pulled out his Durmstrang trunk, the leather torn and musty from years of harsh Scandanavian weather. He opened it quickly and took the red fabric of his school uniform in his fingers, felt the fur trim of his formal jacket. The fabric warmed his hands immediately and it made him laugh aloud. Asahi tried to remember spending a single warm night in that uniform. Sharp flashes of memory hit him like lashes from a whip. The hazing, the bursts of pain, the shouting. The teachers and coaches looking on and nodding their approval. It built character, they said. Boys will be boys, they said. Asahi tried to fight the tears that burned behind his eyes. 

He dug to the bottom of the trunk to find a small metal box. Unlike his uniform, or the trunk, it had no logo. Asahi popped it open and thumbed through the pictures, scraps of newspaper, and parchment. 

People flew through the air. Colors and pennants and roaring crowds. Suga in his Beauxbaton robes, hair long and glowing against the silky blue, giving him a shaky smile, dated just a month after they met, the first picture he sent when they started writing. Asahi’s parents in front of their small house in the snow-covered Scandinavian forest. 

Then it was Nishinoya Yuu after Nishinoya Yuu, pictures of him nursing his jaw and black eye with a thumbs up. Nishinoya Yuu, in his Gryffindor uniform, shaking hands with the Japan’s team manager, and advertising the newest Nimbus model. His favorite was cut from the Daily Prophet last year; Nishinoya laughing during a break, hand on his hip, his robe pushed back, hair slicked with sweat, pink-faced and full of joy. His head was tilted back mid-laugh and revealed the length of his neck. 

At the very bottom of the stack, there was a letter. Asahi fingered the thick, faded parchment and traced Bulgaria’s wax seal with his index finger. He peeked at the first lines of neat script.

_Azumane Asahi,_

_Congratulations on being chosen for the esteemed National Quidditch Team of Bulgaria. We are proud to name you to this team, an honor only bestowed on the strongest and most honorable candidates._

A tear hit the page and Asahi was quick to wipe it up. He shoved everything back into the box and slammed the lid shut before hopping into bed and hiding under the covers. Eventually, he fell asleep, lulling himself the same way he always did when he was anxious, by remembering how the pitch looked from high up in the air.

* * *

The next morning, Asahi woke up to gentle scratching at his window. An owl peered at him with amber eyes through the fogged glass and Asahi nearly jumped out of his skin. 

“Crevette?” Asahi whispered in disbelief. Suga rarely used her, a beautiful barn owl with an attitude just as feisty as her name was odd. The first time Suga introduced them, Asahi laughed because he thought her name was a joke. It was amazing how both the owl and human had stared at him with the same menacing expression, threat obvious in both pairs of eyes. 

He scrambled to open the window and Crevette dropped two envelopes into his hands before fluttering to his bed and preening herself on his pillow, feathers and flecks of dirt floating everywhere. He didn’t have time to dwell on his dirtied shirts, because one of the envelopes started to heat up. He inhaled deeply before tearing open the scarlet paper. Suga’s voice boomed in his ear. 

**”AZUMANE ASAHI, WHY IS IT THAT I HAD TO FIND FROM A NEWSPAPER THAT MY BEST FRIEND’S CELEB CRUSH IS NOT ONLY IN HOGSMEADE BUT THAT YOU WERE STANDING FIVE FEET AWAY FROM THE GUY? AFTER YEARS OF LISTENING TO YOU GUSH ABOUT HIM, YOU DIDN’T THINK I’D WANT TO HEAR ABOUT THIS? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? WHAT AM I GOING TO DO WITH YOU?”**

Asahi took his hands away from his ears when the shouting came to an abrupt halt and he set the letter down on his desk to read the second one, a nice, normal letter on parchment. Asahi smiled to himself when he opened the seal. Beauxbatons kept their students the longest and their pupils were considered to be the most well-rounded of all the wizarding schools, but they obviously skipped hand-writing. Suga’s was atrocious. 

_Asahi, my dearest and oldest friend,_

_Sorry for the howler, but it had to be done. Grab your Daily Prophet, take a gander at page 14, and then call me on the mobile phone I gave you. Immediately. I did the math and you’ll have to be up for work anyway. Looking forward to hearing from you!_

_Also, this is your friendly, hand-written reminder to come visit me in France while I waste away with my family. Give Crevette lots of owl treats. If you don’t have any, buy some. No excuse._

_Talk soon!_

_SK_

He squinted at the stick figures under Suga’s initials. It looked like Suga punching him in the gut. He gulped, folded the letter, and sighed heavily as he slumped downstairs to grab his copy of the Daily Prophet. 

Sure enough, on page 14, there was a big article about the Japan’s team and how they were in Hogsmeade to practice at Hogwarts before the qualifier match with Bulgaria. The biggest picture accompanying the article was of Nishinoya striking a pose in front of Madame Puddifoot’s and, behind the foggy window, Asahi recognized his own outline. He dropped the paper on his desk and rummaged in the drawers to find the mobile phone that Suga had sent him. Asahi cradled it in his hands before turning it on. He loved muggle technology, even if the phone thing still scared him a little bit. 

Suga picked up the call almost instantly and Asahi looked at his face on the screen. Like so many Beauxbatons students, he emitted an ethereal beauty, a silver star in the night sky, unaffected by time, but the bags under his eyes did not go unnoticed. 

“Hello? Asahi? You need to run your hand through your bedhead. You look worse than Crevette after my little brothers are done with her.”

He threaded his hand through his hair a couple times and Suga looked at him expectantly. “

“Hey, Suga. How are you doing?” Asahi asked sheepishly. 

“No, no” Suga chirped, looking smug. “We’re not talking about me this morning.”

“Oh, okay…”

“Asahi.” 

The coldness of Suga’s voice sent shivers up and down his spine, so Asahi told him the story of the day before and did his best to remember all of the details. He emphasised that it had all happened so fast, that he had to pinch himself, and, finally, he told him about the ultimatum. When he was done, he stared helplessly at Suga. 

“He wasn’t serious, right?”

Suga had kept quiet and nodded the entire time as he listened. He might have had the terrifying, otherworldly beauty of an actual angel, but Suga, above everything, he was a good friend, Asahi’s best friend, the one who had stuck by him when he thought there was nothing out there for him. 

“I don’t know,” Suga finally answered. “From everything you’ve read about him over the years, and I know you’ve read every single interview he’s ever done, does he seem like the kind of guy that would back down from something?”

“No, he doesn’t,” Asahi admitted. “But if he doesn’t play, they don’t stand a chance in the qualifier.”

Suga knitted his brows together. “I know he’s good, but is he that good? I mean, he’s only just joined the team.”

“He’s that good,” Asahi answered without hesitation. He wasn’t sure about many things, but this was one of them. 

“So let me get this straight. He knows who you are, which, before you say anything, is not nearly as surprising as you think it is because you’re super good, like, scouted for national teams good, and it sounds like he kind of idolizes you, and that playing with you is so important to him that he would put winning on the line just to have that experience? Wow,” Suga took a breath, “he’s bold. And kind of awesome. And the whole situation is pretty adorable.”

“He is,” Asahi agreed dreamily, then stopped. “Wait, adorable?”

“Mhm,” Suga hummed. “Definitely. But I have to ask… Does he know that you declined the invite to from Bulgaria?”

“No. God. I hope not, at least,” Asahi felt emotion welling up in his throat, a very familiar cocktail of guilt, shame, and embarrassment. “Only you and my parents know. And my parents would never admit…” 

“Hey, you big lump,” Suga chided with a warm laugh. “Don’t cry. You did the right thing for yourself, no matter what your parents think.”

Asahi nodded. Rationally, he knew that, but it didn’t always feel that way.

“And that was a whole year ago. You’ve got to worry about the present. What’re you going to do?” Suga asked. 

“I don’t know,” Asahi answered quietly. 

“God, I’m glad I’m not there right now. I’d smack you to next freaking week.” Suga paused and chewed on his lip. “Asahi, I know playing Quidditch brings up bad memories, but I also know that, deep in your glass heart, you still love it, and maybe this is your chance to, you know, remember exactly why you loved it and make new memories. You absolutely cannot let this opportunity pass you by.”

Asahi thought about it, really thought about it, and not about the lies he told to comfort himself, or to excuse his life choices, or to hide his feelings about the past, but about what he really wanted, and, honestly, he wanted to play Quidditch more than anything, but there was a wall in front of him. “You’re right, I know you’re right, but it’s all… I just need to think about it, and I have to open up the bakery soon, so I have to go...”

“Fine,” Suga sighed. “But if I don’t hear from you by the end of the week, I’m going to fill your entire room with howlers until you tell me. Don’t think I won’t!” Crevette twisted her head like she understood the threat and wholeheartedly supported it.

“Okay, yeah, yes. I’ll let you know. Um, Suga?” 

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?”

Suga laughed, but the smile never reached his eyes. “Worry about yourself, Asahi.”

* * *

It took three full days, but, by the end of Thursday, Asahi had managed to convince himself that a quick trip to The Three Broomsticks wouldn’t kill him. He locked up the café, adjusted the headband holding his hair back, briefly considered taking it out because Suga told him his hair was prettier down, but left it in anyway because he was nervous it would fall into his face and maybe Nishinoya would think it was weird that he had long hair? He froze in front of the pink door and wanted to smack himself. Why did it even matter what he looked like? What was he expecting? What if Nishinoya wasn’t even there and all his worrying was for nothing? What if it was all a joke?

He groaned, took a couple deep breaths, remembered Suga’s warning from a few days ago, and walked toward the warm yellow glow of The Three Broomsticks. 

Through one of the windows, Asahi scanned the faces scattered under the low light of the dining room. He recognized the team around a large table, some of the names jumping out in his head: Kageyama, Tanaka, Taketora Yamamoto, the other starting beater, Bokuto Koutarou, center chaser, Sawamura Daichi, right chaser and captain, Kuroo Tetsurou, left chaser, among others. 

Nishinoya, bleached bangs and dark hair slicked up, stood on top of one of the large table with a beer in his hand and danced in rhythm with the chanting of the Inn’s patrons. His beer sloshed everywhere, but no one either noticed or cared. The chanting got quicker and quicker until it stopped, which seemed to be the signal for Nishinoya to plant his feet, chug his entire beer, and howl to the ceiling. He jumped down from the table and Tanaka, Ryuu, slung his arm around Nishinoya’s shoulder.

It was cold, standing outside the bar, and Asahi wanted to go inside, but his legs refused to take him. He felt like a creep, and must’ve looked the part, but the scene was mesmerizing. Asahi tried to identify exactly how he felt as he watched them drink and laugh, casually touching each other. It was almost like he was feeling nostalgic for something that had never happened. 

Steaming platters of food floated to the table and Sawamura Daichi rose with his glass, presumably to give a toast. The guys around the table settled down and looked toward their captain.

Asahi’s heart started to race and he was genuinely afraid he would throw up. Did the team know Nishinoya wouldn’t play in the match? Would they blame him? Nishinoya took a long sip of beer, wiped his mouth on his sleeve and smiled placidly at his team. He admired Nishinoya’s confident posturing, the decisive movement of his hands, and the way his sharp eyes roamed over the table. 

When the speech was over, they all clinked their glasses and dove into their plates. Asahi felt a pang of jealousy. He took his hands out of his pockets to warm them with his breath, but, when he shifted, his elbow knocked into the side of the window and a large chunk of ice fell at his feet. Asahi jumped back with an undignified shriek. 

He clapped his hand over his mouth and looked through the window just to see everyone at the table staring at him. Tanaka, wide-eyed, punched Nishinoya in the arm and pointed toward the window. Asahi’s flight response flipped to overdrive and he spun around, away from the door and toward to the safety of Madame Puddifoot’s.

The heavy wooden door of The Three Broomsticks swung open behind him, but Asahi didn’t look back. Nishinoya shouted his name, and he stretched his legs as far as they would go, but, in the blink of an eye, Nishinoya stood in front of him, with both hands against his stomach to stop him. Nishinoya’s hands were small and Asahi liked the way they felt like they were there with purpose, touching a very particular part of him. Asahi caught sight of Nishinoya’s bare arms and brought his hands to his face in horror.

“Nishinoya! Your coat?”

“Oops! Must’ve forgotten it. You were moving too fast, so I had to act quickly! Plus,” Nishinoya added, “I’m not super sensitive to the cold, and that’s not important, but you! You finally came!”

It was true that he didn’t look cold, but Asahi felt it for him. He unwound the scarf from around his neck and handed it over and, when Nishinoya took it, Asahi realized that it was his Durmstrang scarf, the only relic of his school days that saw the light of day. Before he could over think the decision, Nishinoya plucked the scarf from his hands with unbridled glee, wove it around his neck and over his shoulders and buried his face in it. He inhaled the fabric and warmth and Asahi’s heart threatened to jump out of his chest.

Nishinoya said something, but his voice was muffled by the scarf. 

Asahi had to smile. The scarf was huge around his shoulders and Nishinoya practically swam in it. “Hm?” 

“I said, I can’t believe I have Azumane Asahi’s Dumstrang scarf around my neck right now. It even smells like you,” Nishinoya said in a hushed, reverent voice. 

“Sorry,” Asahi blurted out. He wasn’t even sure what he was apologizing for, which caused him to panic, and, embarrassed, he started to ramble. “It’s the warmest scarf I own, but I can get you a clean one, I live right above Madame Puddifoot’s, or you could go back into the bar, which might be easier, oh my god, sorry, I interrupted your dinner with everyone. I’ll just come back…”

Bare arms shot out from underneath the scarf and clasped his wrists. “No!” Nishinoya shouted. “You just got here! Come in and join us!”

“No, I’m not, uh.” He fiddled with his hands. “I was just passing by.” Asahi’s stomach chose that exact moment let out a treacherous growl.

Nishinoya raised his eyebrows. “It’ll be my treat. I know the guys would love to meet you. They’ve heard so much about you!”

“The guys?”

“Y’know,” Nishinoya jumped in place, “our captain, Daichi, you probably know of him, went to school with me and he was the same year as you. He was pretty stoked to see you when they were scouting and was bummed when you disappeared, so I know he’d love to meet you in person, oh!” 

Nishinoya waved behind him and Asahi turned to the man standing in the door.

“Daichi-san!” Nishinoya chirped with obvious delight. 

“Nishinoya get your ass back in here before you freeze to death. Well, well,” he said as he looked over Asahi, “it really is you. That’s great! We all thought it was some sort of prank. Eat with us?”

Asahi fought the urge to run. He didn’t know if he’d be able to sit through an entire dinner and talk about Quidditch with some of the most elite players in the world. Would he be able to keep up? Asahi wasn’t sure. “Thank you, but I really couldn’t. I was just passing by, I have to be up for work tomorrow, I,” Asahi ran out of excuses and tried to find more but, before he could, Nishinoya pushed him toward the inn. Asahi dug his heels, but Nishinoya was stronger than he expected and he admitted, only to himself, that he enjoyed the feeling of Nishinoya’s hands on his lower back.

Dinner was, to Asahi’s surprise and relief, fine. More than fine. He couldn’t remember the last time he had more fun with a large group of people, and, after the meal was over, he got clapped on the back, hugged, knocked around, and badgered about coming back. Daichi had even taken him aside to formalize the invitation and expand it to include joining them at their Hogwarts scrimmage that weekend. Asahi looked for the lie in gesture, but couldn’t find one. 

Nishinoya insisted on walking Asahi back to Madame Puddifoot’s, even though it was just around the corner. They had only walked a couple steps before Asahi surprised himself by breaking the silence. 

“Are you really not playing next week?”

Nishinoya blew a long stream of breath into the cold air and watched it disappear. “You gonna practice with me before we leave?”

Asahi dug his hands into his pockets. What could he say? He wanted it more than anything, but he was afraid? That he was ashamed of that fear and there was perverted comfort in lying to himself? 

Nishinoya hummed to fill the gap left by Asahi’s internal struggle. “Well, then you know I’m sitting the match out.” He looked up at Asahi with eyes that he swore were carved out of the earth’s core, molten and glowing and powerful. “If you’re worried about not having equipment, we have extras of everything?”

“It’s not that,” Asahi admitted.

“Then what is it?” Nishinoya asked. There was no accusation in the question, just curiosity and Asahi stayed silent.

“Okay… But you’re coming to our scrimmage on Saturday morning, right? Daichi invited you specifically, remember?”

The scrimmage was on Saturday and the team would leave on Monday. Asahi didn’t like the reminder that this was all temporary, that Nishinoya would leave and it would be like it never happened. He sent a little prayer out to Suga for alerting him to the picture in the Daily Prophet, so he could cut out the image and save it for the nights ahead, when he would be at the mercy of his own memory. “I don’t think you really want to play with me,” he said quietly. “I haven’t played in so long. Even if I wanted to, I don’t know if I could.”

Nishinoya looked up at him. “Asahi-san. I know what you’re capable of and I refuse to believe otherwise.”

The sincerity of his voice burned a hole through his heart but, instead of feeling like he only had further to fall, Asahi felt like maybe, just maybe, the ground was hardening beneath him. 

They walked in silence back to Madame Puddifoot’s, where Nishinoya informed him he would never see his scarf again. Asahi told him that it was his pleasure, because, looking at Nishinoya bundled up the burgundy wool, it really was.

* * *

On Saturday morning, Asahi sat in the stands around the pitch at Hogwarts, the castle turrets looming in the distance and the glare of the Black Lake at the edge of his vision. There was a huge crowd, which made sense. How often did a national team visit and allow the house teams to take their chances? Asahi found himself wondering, again, if the Hogwarts students knew how lucky they were. He watched them cheer on their respective houses, the blue and green and red and yellow rippling through the stands as the teams blocked, scored, and whacked bludgers in all directions. 

He sat quietly for the first half of the scrimmage, but, by the end of the third quarter, he was standing and shouting Nishinoya’s name into the air. The sound of his own voice, loud and confident, was foreign and exhilarating. Someone sat down next to him, a Japanese team scarf draped over his shoulders and a small flag in hand.

“Asahi, fancy seeing you here!”

Asahi recognized his face; Takeda Ittetsu, professor of ancient runes at Hogwarts and dedicated patron of Madame Puddifoot’s. “Takeda-sensei,” he greeted warmly. “I didn’t realize you were a fan of the Japanese team?”

“I am,” Takeda laughed into his hand. “Though my students give me enough grief about it. They know I support all of their teams, but I have to say that my home team will always have my heart.”

“Understandable,” Asahi admitted. He remembered Takeda telling him about his own schooling at Mahoutokoro, how he had never been very good at Quidditch and that it had caused quite the scandal when he was offered, and had accepted, the faculty position at Hogwarts. 

Takeda took a deep breath as the players zipped through the air right in front of them. Kageyama, who Asahi knew was a well-known prodigy from Mahoutokoro, jumped for the snitch but missed it by a hair when a bludger threatened to knock him to the ground. The Hufflepuff beater, a diminutive red-head, laughed maniacally. Takeda put his head in his hands. “I swear, Hinata has it out for Kageyama. Maybe I’ll pull him aside in the halls next week.”

The comment piqued Asahi’s attention. “Do you know many of the players, of the Japanese team, I mean?”

“Oh yes,” Takeda affirmed. “I’m quite close with the coach, so I’m privy to more information than I know what to do with.”

Asahi’s jaw dropped. “You know Ukai Keishin?”

Takeda smiled coyly. “I do indeed. I also know a certain player who has decided that he’s going to sit out of professional matches until a certain other someone agrees to throw the Quaffle with him.”

“Is that so,” Asahi wheezed. He wrapped his arms around his chest like it would shield him from the conversation.

“It is. You love it though, don’t you? Quidditch. We don’t know each other all that well yet, but I’ve noticed that you light up whenever we talk about it at Madame Puddifoot’s. Ah, but I’m afraid that I tend to commandeer those conversations quite unfairly,” Takeda said without remorse. 

Asahi admitted that he was enjoying the scrimmage, but didn’t say anything else. 

“I apologize for bringing it up, and I don’t want to pry, but I know you were chosen for the Bulgarian National team,” Takeda said quietly. “And I know that you rejected the offer.”

Asahi felt his breathing pick up and his chest tighten. He knew Takeda didn’t mean any harm by bringing it up, and he knew that he should be better able to handle this conversation by now, but hearing it aloud felt akin to jumping in front of an oncoming train. He swallowed hard and pulled on the ends of his hair. “How do you know?”

“Bulgaria wasn’t the only team with eyes on you, Asahi,” Takeda said cryptically. “Oh, Keishin saw us!” Takeda waved down to the blonde on the field and motioned for Asahi to wave, but he was still trying to parse Takeda’s words. He didn’t mean Japan, did he? Asahi opened his mouth to ask, but nothing came out, and Takeda snuggled back into his coat. “I did a teaching exchange there once, years and years ago.”

“There?” Asahi asked, not sure if he was grateful for the change in conversation or afraid of the look in Takeda’s eyes, glinting underneath the thick frames of his glasses. 

“Durmstrang.”

Asahi mouthed an ‘oh.’

“Durmstrang is a great institution and I was honored to be there, but it was not an especially,” Takeda chose his words carefully, “nurturing place to be if you’re not right for it.” He reached for Asahi’s arm and touched it lightly. “I know it’s not easy to deal with people’s expectations of you, or even your own expectations, and it can be terrifying, but there’s something beautiful in making our own choices and choosing our own paths, just like you did in moving out here. It’s okay to be afraid, but please don’t let that fear hold you back from the world, or let it corrupt what you love. There’s enough of that in this world already.” 

Takeda turned to watch the final minutes of the match and left Asahi to wipe the tears from his face as he searched for Nishinoya on the pitch. In the last minute of the game, Nishinoya blocked a shot out on the center goal post. He shot up on his broomstick with a fist in the air. AsahI wiped the last tears from his face and allowed himself to smile. He sniffed and clapped as loudly as he could, not trusting his voice. 

The people in the crowd around them started picking up their bags and shifting their robes, stowing their pom poms and enchanted fabrics. “Shall we go down to see the team?” Takeda asked.

“I’d like that,” Asahi responded, his voice still shaky. 

They wove around the crowd, down the stairs, and were allowed into the underbelly of the stands. Takeda looked around the corner. “I have to talk to Keishin about… Something, so I’m going to leave you here. The team should come through any minute on the way to change. See you early next week? Will you be making those cherry scones that I love?”

“If you like them, I’ll make them, Takeda-sensei.”

“Good!” He said, delighted. “I’ll look forward to seeing you then. Thanks for your company, Asahi. And good luck!” 

Good luck? He stood alone in the creaking hallway, wondering at what point he should leave, when a red blur jumped at him from the shadows. 

“Asahi-san! You came!”

Asahi took notice of Nishinoya’s hands on his arms and looked down at his face, fresh from exercise and cold air, sweat at his temples. The warmth of his body permeated his own and, for the first time since Monday, he believed the man in front of him was real. “Of course I did,” Asahi answered with a laugh. 

“I saw you sitting with Takeda-sensei, you know him?”

“You saw us?” Asahi asked in disbelief, to which Nishinoya nodded vigorously. “He comes in every week and buys me out of green tea cherry scones.”

“Cool. He’s super nice and buys treats for his students. I tried taking his class once, but it was way harder than I thought, so I dropped it gracefully,” Nishinoya made a dramatic bowing gesture and Asahi laughed into his hands. “He’s getting it on with our coach, so I think I might actually see him more now than I did at school.”

The casual way Nishinoya mentioned it made Asahi choke on his spit. It made sense, now that he thought about it, the small smiles, how Takeda knew he had rejected the offer from Bulgaria, knew about Nishinoya not playing. He tried to imagine energetic, kind Takeda with famously gruff Ukai Keishin, and he must’ve made a face because he felt Nishinoya’s eyes on him. 

“You okay with that?” Nishinoya asked cautiously. 

“With what? Oh.” Realization dawned on him and he fidgeted with the sleeves of his coat. “Yeah, um, definitely. I’m actually,” Asahi would never be able to explain how he could come out to someone he barely knew in person, but something shone in Nishinoya’s eyes and all of a sudden he was heads first in a trust fall. “I’m gay. Also, I mean?”

Nishinoya perked up. “Whoa! Me too! I mean, I like everyone!” He inched closer to Asahi and, in a softer voice, said, “I’m really honored that you told me, Asahi-san, but then why were you making a face just then when I mentioned coach and Takeda-sensei?”

“I was just thinking that Ukai and Takeda seem like really different people. Ukai is known for being kind of harsh and Takeda is a bit like…”

“An over-eager teddy bear?”

“I guess opposites attract?” Asahi laughed.

Nishinoya looked up at him with shining eyes. “Wow. Has anyone ever told you that your laugh feels like a million suns?” 

Maybe it was the direct way in which Nishinoya said it, or the cheesy words, or the way his nerves had been fried by the crowds and his conversation with Takeda, or the dreamlike quality of the entire week, but Asahi started giggling and couldn't stop. The laughter spread from his face and shook his entire body. Nishinoya started to laugh, too, and they stood in the hallway, both clutching their stomachs and grasping each other for support. 

“Break it up you two!” Daichi called from the end of the hall. “We have to clear out for the afternoon so the maintenance people can get home.” 

They looked at each other and, between breaths, Nishinoya told him that he had to shower quick and pack up. Asahi let him know that it was okay, and that he would get going. 

“No!” Nishinoya latched onto Asahi’s jacket with white knuckles. “Wait for me! It’ll be like two seconds. We’ll go back to Hogsmeade together.”

Asahi moved his hand to cover Nishinoya’s smaller one. Something buzzed underneath his skin, Asahi could feel it, like pure kinetic energy, and he almost reached out again when Nishinoya pulled away to run back down the hall, but he was gone before Asahi had the chance.

They meandered back to High Street and walked side-by-side back to Hogsmeade. Nishinoya had been in such a hurry that he didn’t style his hair and it swept across his forehead. It was longer than Asahi expected, and looked so soft that Asahi deemed it unfair. He thought about pushing it out of Nishinoya’s eyes with his fingers, tucking the strands behind his ears, and cupping his face in his hands and he fumbled with his wand as he unlocked the door to Madame Puddifoot’s. Nishinoya followed him up to his room. Suga’s mobile phone lit up in the dark and Nishinoya jumped back with his wand in the air. 

Asahi moved in front of him and grabbed the phone. He winced. Nine missed calls. He looked at Nishinoya, who had his head cocked in curiosity. “Right. Sorry, it’s a muggle mobile-thing for talking, and my friend is calling me, I just, I have to take this or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Nishinoya nodded slowly, still skeptical of the device in Asahi’s hand.

“Suga? Hey! Sorry! I just got back.” Asahi looked at Suga’s face on the screen. He had his hair pinned back, a paint smudge on his face, and creases at the corners of his lips.

“Asahi! I thought you were dead! It was your day off, and you hadn’t told me if you made any progress with the Nishinoya situation -”

Asahi cut him off with a screech, but he wasn’t quick enough. Nishinoya had heard his name and was now practically climbing up Asahi’s back to see what was on the screen. Asahi held the phone in one hand and palmed his face with the other. 

“Whoa! Look! I can see his face! Can he see me?” Nishinoya said excitedly. 

Suga laughed in wonder on the other end of the line. “Nishinoya! Hi! I can see AND hear you! How do you not know what a phone is? I thought all Hogwarts students took Muggle Studies?”

“We did! But classes weren’t really my thing, y’know,” Nishinoya screamed at the device. 

Asahi’s mortification turned into something like tender appreciation. “Nishinoya, you don’t have to scream at it, he can hear you just fine. This is my best friend, Suga. He lives in France. Suga, this is Nishinoya Yuu.”

Suga looked at the two of them and beamed. “So formal! Of course I know who Nishinoya is! What do you take me for?” Suga asked. He directed his attention to Nishinoya, still attached to Asahi’s back. “Hey, Nishinoya, I see you’ve breached the impenetrable fortress of Asahi’s room.” He waggled his eyebrows lasciviously and Asahi glared at him to make him stop, forgetting that Nishinoya could see his face in at the bottom of the screen. 

Nishinoya snorted. “That’s an amazing name. Asahi-san’s fortress! And it’s nice to meet you, though I still can’t believe I’m talking to a box thing.”

“Mobile phone,” Asahi corrected. 

“Whatever!” Nishinoya chirped. “Hey Suga-san, did Asahi tell you that he came to my scrimmage at Hogwarts today?”

“No,” Suga said with disbelief. “How’d you all do?”

“We crushed everyone, obviously,” Nishinoya huffed and puffed out his chest. 

Asahi nudged Nishinoya in the shoulder. “They’re still students, Nishinoya, of course you won.”

Nishinoya pushed him back. “Still! A win’s a win!”

“Oh my god, you guys need to stop. You’re going to make my teeth fall out,” Suga gushed. “Alright, I’ll leave you two alone, but, Asahi, I expect a full report later. And, Nishinoya, it was nice to meet you over the phone! It’s not everyday that I get to meet a celebrity! I’m actually a little jealous,” he pouted. “Talk soon!”

Asahi and Nishinoya said goodbye and the screen went blank. Nishinoya sat across from Asahi on the bed. Legs crossed, they faced each other. 

“Suga-san seems super cool! Does he really think I’m a celebrity?”

“Yeah, he’s my best friend,” Asahi agreed. “And definitely. He’s loved quidditch forever, maybe even before I did. I don’t know. When he was at Beauxbatons, he was the captain of on of their intramural teams. Plus, his mom’s from Japan, so he keeps up with Japanese team. It’s hard though,” Asahi said with a heavy breath. “He’s a muggleborn, and his mom’s not doing so well, so he sort of gave up on magic to be with them.”

Nishinoya chewed on his lip so hard that Asahi was sure he’d break skin. “Wow. I mean, I assumed Suga-san was awesome, because he’s your friend, but it’s even more awesome that you guys stayed friends even though you’re far apart,” he said thoughtfully, almost to himself. “If he’s a fan, would he like it if I sent him stuff? Like, autographs or pictures or gear? Would that make him happy? Oh!” Nishinoya jumped onto his knees and leaned in to Asahi, startled him into leaning back. “How about I arrange for him come to our next match? It’s against France, so he wouldn’t be too far away from his family. He can even come meet us afterwards, if he wanted. And you could come!”

Asahi combed through his hair with his fingers and let it fall on his shoulders. Nishinoya didn’t even know Suga and he was treating him like the oldest of friends. “I think he’d really like that, but you don’t have to go out of your way. He gets that people are busy, even if it doesn’t seem like it, and he won’t expect anything.”

“Wouldn’t be going out of my way,” Nishinoya reassured him. “This might be oversharing, but I was never much of anything until I found Quidditch, so I worked as hard as I could, and then it seemed like, all of a sudden, I was doing super well. When the Japanese team scouted me, it took me, like, three days to believe it. So I promised myself, when I made it big, that I would use my power for good,” he spoke into window, voice calm and unwavering. He turned back to Asahi, who had hung onto every word. “Can you tell me why you stopped playing Quidditch, Asahi-san? It’s okay if you can’t, but I needed to ask. While I have the chance.”

“Nishinoya,” Asahi said in a hushed breath. It took him a minute to gather the fraying edges of his nerves. “Honestly? I don’t know if I can put it into words. I’m still having trouble believing that this,” he motioned between them, “is real.”

“You don’t think I feel the same way?” Nishinoya asked. “You disappeared after you graduated, and I found you, here of all places, but I might leave without getting the chance to block some of your shots, something I’ve thought about for,” he paused and silently mouthed numbers before shaking his head in defeat, “a really long time.”

Asahi could never have imagined this situation, not in a million lifetimes, and the desire to reach out and touch him, to prove that it was happening, overwhelmed him. He held out his hand, not expecting anything, but Nishinoya took it almost immediately and their fingers intertwined like puzzle pieces once given up for lost. It pushed him toward the ledge he had been avoiding for so long, and it was time to take the leap, not for the man sitting in front of him, not for Suga, not for his parents, not for the world, but for himself. 

“I have to work tomorrow, but after?” 

Nishinoya’s eyes lit up and he sat a little straighter before deflating. “Damnit. Coach and Daichi-san want to go over strategy tomorrow night. Which leaves… shit! Which only leaves Monday morning. Before we leave. Shit. Shit!” He chewed on the inside of his cheek and stared daggers into the air. Asahi looked at the smaller hand in his, just as calloused, just as strong.

“I can meet you on Monday morning,” Asahi suggested. Nishinoya perked up again. “I have to work early, but I don’t mind getting up. Er, only if you want to, though, if you don’t, that’s okay. Really.”

“Hell yeah,” Nishinoya whispered. They held hands for just a moment longer, and Asahi only let him go so that he could do a couple victory laps around the room.

* * *

If his day off on Saturday had been bliss, working on Sunday was torture. 

First thing in the morning, Asahi dropped a bowl of muffin batter and spent a good twenty minutes trying to locate and scrub the raw splattered liquid off every surface, wall, and inch of tiled floor.

Then, a group of prefects came in with purpose and left with horror, parchment dripping with spilled tea, courtesy of Asahi and his shaking hands. 

Later, he let a tray of cookies burn and the café filled with smoke so completely that he had to evacuate the building. Everyone glared at him while they shivered in the cold and he wanted to melt into the ground.

At the end of the day, when Asahi thought that there wouldn’t possibly be enough time to screw up anything else, he spilled coffee all over his hand in front of a Hogwarts professor and continued pouring it despite the internal screaming just so she wouldn’t notice and feel bad. He nursed the burn on his hand for a good five minutes after she left.

By closing time, Asahi was crouched behind the counter, like hiding would save him from the day’s mortification and the rising panic of what he planned to do that evening.

When he was sure there were no customers left and that it was time to lock up, Asahi shut off the lights with a flick of his wrist and inched his way into the basement, where he hid the belongings he didn’t want to see but couldn’t bring himself to give up when he moved.

He stared at the long shape resting against the wall, padded with long strips of thick paper. The things he couldn’t give up. Asahi grabbed the paper and unwrapped it slowly, carefully, until the smooth, scarlet-colored ebony of the handle shone under the low light of his wand. The broomstick was light in his hands, a Firebolt, a masterpiece, a gift from his parents at the start of his last year at Durmstrang and the official broomstick of the Bulgarian National Team. Something crackled in his veins and Asahi was almost shocked to find that it wasn’t fear. It was excitement. 

Asahi set the broomstick on the ground gently and kneeled in front of another trunk, also emblazoned with the gilded double-headed eagle of his alma mater. He opened the trunk and ran his fingers over the craters, fingered the stitching. He tossed his Quaffle in the air and it landed in his hand with a light slap. 

He gathered the Quaffle and his broomstick, slung his heavier athletic robes over his shoulders, pulled on his boots, and hiked to a large clearing, edged by thick forest and the Black Lake. He straddled his broomstick, took a deep breath, and kicked off. When muscle memory kicked in, he zoomed through the air like it was second nature, the lights of Hogsmeade below him and the stars above him.

He tossed the Quaffle as far as he could and raced after it. He flew with it in his hands for balance and watched his reflection in the lake. He flipped, turned, tossed, sped up, slowed down, shot up in the air, and dove to the ground.

Hours later, Asahi collapsed onto the grass, and tried to catch his breath. Then, he smiled. Not his usual, restrained smile, and not the smile that broke while he laughed with Nishinoya under the strands at Hogwarts, but a smile that threatened to crack his face in two, one that he hardly recognized as his own. 

Suga and Takeda’s words hit him at full speed. It was time to make new memories, to choose his path. It had been over a year since he had graduated, had played Quidditch. How did it take him to realize it?

He made his way home, to the town he chose, the job that accepted him, the apartment that was his own. His muscles ached and he was tired from playing the sport he loved, a sport he chose to play again, this time just for himself. Asahi glanced at his bed, but there was no way he’d be able sleep that night, not when Nishinoya would be waiting for him in the morning.

* * *

Asahi approached at the pitch with two large bakery boxes balanced precariously on his broomstick, between his arms. Nishinoya waved at him from the ground, draped in sleek red and white practice robes, holding a Quaffle under his arm. 

He ran to greet Asahi as soon as he touched down. “You came!”

“Of course,” Asahi responded. He hoisted the boxes off his broomstick and held them out to Nishinoya, who took them and popped the top lid open and peered into the box. “I couldn’t sleep last night, and I don’t mean to force anything on you, but I thought, since you were leaving, that it might be nice to have something to tide you over when you traveled, if you wanted -”

Nishinoya had already dove into the treats and had half a biscuit hanging out of his mouth when he cut off Asahi’s nervous rambling. “Fank you!” He tried to say around the biscuit in his mouth. It also sounded like he was trying to say something about the team not getting any, that he would eat them all then and there and brag to everyone about getting homemade treats.

Asahi put his hand to his face to try to cover the blush and muffle his laughter, then he picked up the Quaffle that Nishinoya had abandoned. He tossed it toward the sky and closed his eyes to focus to the sound it made as it cut through the air on its descent. When he opened his eyes again, Nishinoya had set down the box of pastries and watched him intently. “You ready?” Asahi asked.

“I was born ready,” Nishinoya replied with a dangerous glint in his eyes, the same one he got when he stared down the opposing team.

It was all Asahi needed to kick off and it was only a second or two before Nishinoya caught up with him. They raced through the sky and wove around each other while passing the Quaffle with practiced strokes. Asahi tucked it under his arm after a forceful pass and shot toward the other end of the pitch. He hurled the Quaffle into the center goal post but Nishinoya darted in front to whack straight back to him. The Quaffle hit him square in the chest and his heart pounded against his rib cage. He shouted “Nice save!” in Nishinoya's direction and the red on his cheeks convinced Asahi that he was enjoying the rush as much as he did. 

They passed and blocked and chased each other and it was so much better than Asahi remembered. It was the real thing and this was his real life, his real love, and it overwhelmed him. He slowed down to savor the moment and just barely dodged the Quaffle aimed at his arms.

“C’mon Asahi-san! Get your head in the game!”

“Just, a second,” Asahi sniffed.

Nishinoya pulled up alongside him. “You okay?”

“Better than okay. You ready for more?”

“Give me everything you got, Asahi-san!”

And he did, up until the very last second, when the Quaffle finally passed through the left goal post, right above Nishinoya’s head. His lips parted and he watched in awe as the Quaffle fell to the ground, marking his first goal against Nishinoya Yuu, world famous keeper, alumnus of Hogwarts, current and most recently added starting member of Japan’s National Quidditch team.

Nishinoya soared right up next to Asahi and whacked him in the side, almost hard enough to knock him over. “That’s what I’m talking about! Told ya you’d be great!”

Asahi didn’t say anything as they lowered themselves to the touched the grass with the soles of their shoes. Nishinoya threw him a water bottle, which he accepted and chugged. When he brought the bottle down and wiped his mouth, Nishinoya was still looking at him, his own water untouched. Asahi’s chest heaved slightly and he tried to push the stray strands of hair back into his headband, but Nishinoya kept staring and he got nervous. “What? Is there something wrong? I mean, my hair’s falling all over the place…”

“It’s perfect.” Nishinoya smiled. “I wasn’t sure you’d come, you know.”

“Me neither,” Asahi responded. 

“I’m glad you did. I almost felt bad about that scary no-playing thing.” Nishinoya held up his index finger and thumb to show the margin by which he had avoided any compunctions he might’ve felt. “Almost.”

Asahi hummed with a small laugh. “It definitely a little terrifying, but, I’ve never really been decisive, so it was good. Even though I was surprised, and, uh,” he swallowed, “nervous. You’ll play in the match next week, now, right?”

“Yeah I will,” Nishinoya said, his voice rich with their previous physical exertion. 

They heard someone shout in the distance, and Asahi spotted Daichi waving his arms. 

“Guess they sent the captain himself after me. Yikes,” Nishinoya muttered under his breath. 

Asahi’s own breaths came short and in fast succession. Just as quickly as Nishinoya swooped into his life, he would leave. His stomached lurched and he tried to do his best to hide his trembling hands in the folds of his robes. “I guess so,” he said quietly. 

Daichi shouted something that Asahi couldn’t make out, but Nishinoya must’ve recognized, because he paled dramatically. “Bye, Asahi-san. Thanks for a making this guy’s dream come true.”

‘Your dream?’ Asahi choked. There was so much he wanted to say, ‘Good luck!’ and ‘Thank you’ and ‘Please come back’ and ‘How will I possibly convince myself that you were here with me?’ The words stayed lodged in his throat, however, so he raised his hand to wave. Nishinoya waved back before he turned and ran to Daichi, the red and white of the Japanese flag on his robes billowing behind him. 

Suddenly, Asahi felt cold. The wind whipped through the pitch like it wanted nothing more than to tear the structures down and silence echoed off the stands. Asahi covered his ears and closed his eyes, genuinely afraid that he would be cut down by the wind and buried alive under the heavy quiet.

The sound of light footsteps pulled him out of his self-imposed darkness. Nishinoya, faced flushed and panting, grabbed the lapels of Asahi’s robe. “Asahi-san,” he said with a deep breath, “can I kiss you?” 

Asahi nodded ‘yes’ and Nishinoya pulled him down, stood on his tiptoes, and reached up to peck him lightly on the cheek. When he pulled his face away from Asahi’s, whose eyes were blown wide with surprise, he let out a small sigh of relief. “Been wanting to do that since the moment I saw you. Well, long before that, but seeing you in person sealed the deal.” He grabbed both of Asahi’s hands. “Asahi-san? I have to go for real this time. You gonna be okay?”

Asahi pulled Nishinoya close to him and wrapped him up as tightly as he could. “Yeah, I think I will,” he whispered hoarsely into Nishinoya’s hair. 

“Good,” he said into Asahi’s chest before pulling away. “Talk soon?”

“Yeah,” Asahi answered with a soft smile.

“Great! Wow. Awesome,” Nishinoya said to himself like he couldn’t believe it. “Okay! Bye, Asahi-san!” He waved and walked backwards with surprisingly graceful movements.

“Bye, Nishinoya.” 

When Asahi was left on the pitch, alone again, the wind howled and it was still quiet, but the silence wasn’t suffocating anymore. Something rallied deep within him and, when he closed his eyes, in the darkness, he saw Nishinoya, like a torch in the night. 

He raised his hand to his cheek as he walked back to Hogsmeade to call Suga, who picked up on the first ring.

“Hey! Wait, what’s going on? Why’s your face all red?” 

“I, uh,” Asahi started. “Nothing?”

“Your face looks like it’s on fire and your hair is everywhere and you’re out of breath and it’s god awfully early in the morning and you’re going to lie like that?”

Asahi winced. “Sorry, it’s just, I’m having trouble processing what just happened.”

“Oh, Asahi,” Suga said fondly. He smiled his heart-melting, soul-devouring smile. “Just tell me what happened before I come up there and beat it out of you.”

He felt a phantom pain in his side. “Okay, okay. Sorry, it’s just, promise me you won’t freak out.”

“I absolutely cannot promise that,” Suga scolded. 

Asahi nodded and took a steadying breath. “Nishinoya and I played Quidditch this morning, before he had to leave.”

For the first time in their many years of friendship, Suga was stunned silent. “Okay…” He said slowly, indicating that he wanted Asahi to give him more details.

“Yeah. And I practiced by myself the night before. Suga, we played on the Hogwarts pitch. Me,” he emphasized by pointing to himself, index finger hard on his sternum, “on the Hogwarts field. Nishinoya played with me. I even scored against him. Once, but still. I never thought… and, he, ah, he kissed me. On the cheek.”

Suga’s eyes bulged out of his head. “What?!”

“He kissed me. It wasn’t anything big, but still, it’s like I can feel it lingering on my cheek. Is that stupid?”

“God no, not stupid all,” Suga said softly. “I’m so happy for you, Asahi, you don’t even know-”

“But now he’s gone,” Asahi blurted out. “He’s gone, and I’m happy and can’t wait to play Quidditch again, but, god, Suga, it’s so lame, because it feels like I lost something big and that it’ll never come back, and it’s ridiculous, I know, like idol worship or something -”

Suga tried to cut in, but Asahi steamrolled the attempt.

“I’m just a loser with a weird stalker crush, and he probably felt bad for me, or something, because I don’t even know him and he has so much out there, so many people that adore him and that he wants to help and that are inspired-”

“Asahi.”

“I’m happy, I am, I’m so happy, when I put my hand on my broomstick after so many years it felt like my life clicked into place, but maybe it would've been better if we never met, so he would’ve never left, and I could just lie to myself-”

“Asahi!” Suga said sharply, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. 

Asahi realized he was out of breath and the room was spinning. He had been pacing with the phone in his hand. “Suga?”

“Shut up for two seconds. You’re spiraling. So you played this morning and he kissed you?”

“Yes,” Asahi nodded. Suga put his hand over his mouth to hide his smile, but it was no use. It took over his face and was so infectious that Asahi found himself smiling, too, but he wasn’t sure it was a happy one. “But he’s Nishinoya Yuu. He’s so much and I’m just...” he trailed off. 

“You’re Azumane Asahi, my best friend, braver and stronger and more talented than you think you are,” Suga said sternly. “And I saw the way Nishinoya looked at you when we were on the phone the other night. You might not believe this, but you didn’t lose anything. You gained something, and it seemed like he did, too. I have a sneaking suspicion that this is only the beginning.”

Suga was usually right, but Asahi was still afraid. “You think so?”

“I do,” Suga answered. Someone shrieked in the background and Suga put his head in his hands. “Sounds like my brothers are up. I gotta go put breakfast on the table. Hey, Asahi?”

“Hm?”

“I’m really happy for you. And, honestly, a little jealous that you’re getting action and I’m not,” he winked. 

“Suga!”

“I’ll call again tonight, after your work, and we can talk about it more, if you want?”

“Yeah, that’d good,” Asahi agreed. “Sorry for-”

“Nope!” Suga interjected. “No apologies now, no apologies ever. How many times do I have to remind you?”

“Too many. Thanks.”

“Of course, you gargantuan softie. Anytime, remember?”

Asahi looked at his friend for a second and wondered if Suga knew how much he loved him. “I remember. You too, Suga. Anytime.”

“I know,” Suga beamed.

* * *

Japan crushed Bulgaria in the qualifying match, just as Asahi had hoped. Takeda had come down from Hogwarts and they watched it together at The Three Broomsticks, clutching each other when there was a close call and shouting into the air when the Quaffle passed through any of the Goal Posts. At one point, Nishinoya had almost been hit square in the face with a Bludger and Asahi swore he lost consciousness. 

As soon as Kageyama secured Japan’s victory by snatching the Snitch right out of thin air, they shot out of their seats, arms waving, and Takeda hugged him so hard that Asahi was afraid for his lungs. They stayed at the inn into the wee hours of the morning, Takeda talking to anyone who would listen about the upcoming match against France, the players, Japan, and their talented and inappropriately handsome coach. After a bit of urging, Asahi joined in the conversation, if only to make sure Nishinoya’s name was mentioned as much as it deserved to be.

It didn’t even occur to Asahi until his walk back to Hogsmeade, after making sure Takeda got back to the castle grounds safely, that it had been the first time he’d ever watched a match with people he might consider friends. He could get used to that.

A couple days later, when he turned off High Street after running an errand for the café, Asahi thought he saw a smallish owl perched on the windowsill of Madame Puddifoot’s. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. The bird was still there, fluffed up to protect itself against the cold, it’s dark feathers contrasted sharply against the fuchsia paint. As Asahi got closer, he noticed the owl had tall blonde feathers that met at its beak, swept up the side of its head and high into the air. It reminded him of Nishinoya and his heart raced as he lengthened his stride toward the building. 

The small owl perked up at the crunch of his footsteps and dropped a letter into Asahi’s hands when he reached the door. It perched happily on his shoulder, nuzzling the hair around his ear and cooing loudly. He laughed at the strange, affectionate animal with no small amount of surprise and opened the letter as soon as he stepped inside.

The handwriting was even worse than Suga’s, obviously rushed, and scrawled unevenly across the parchment. Asahi scratched the soft, mottled-brown feathers of the owl’s neck and let his eyes race across the page.

_Asahi-san!_

_Did you see the match?! We kicked ass! And did you like my move at the very end? The spin thing? Wasn’t it awesome! I still have to come up with a name for it. Speaking of names, this is my owl, Rolling Thunder! I named her after the first move I ever came up with. I’ll have to show it to you next time because it’s my crowning achievement. No joke._

_And yeah, I said next time! Hogsmeade is super easy and I’ll visit again when I can just because your baking skills are amazing. Kidding! I mean, not really, please bake me things all the time with your crazy muggle ways, but I want to play with you again. And can you play with the rest of us? Daichi said you should and Ryuu wants to and everyone else thinks it’s a great idea. They also said you should bring scones and stuff._

_So, I was thinking that we could write until then? Like the way you and Suga wrote in school? Rolling Thunder is small for her breed, but she’s got power. And I know she’s gonna like you. I mean, duh. You’re you._

_Nishinoya Y_

_PS - Tell Suga I say hi! And that I’m a little jealous of his muggle talking thing! I kinda want to see your face all the time now. And tell me how I can send him things. We play France soon and I want him to come. Maybe you could come, too?_

_PPS - I miss you already?? Write me and tell me everything. And keep practicing. Maybe next time you’ll score more than ten points on me :P_

Asahi clutched the letter in his hand and read it four more times before inspecting the envelope. A picture slipped from the folds. Nishinoya, slightly blurred, wrapped up in familiar burgundy wool, gave him a thumbs up and a big smile. Asahi propped the photo up on his desk and laughed when Rolling Thunder’s tall, blonde feathers brushed against his neck. “Well, Rolling Thunder,” Asahi said to the owl on his shoulder, “How would you feel about a treat before meeting Crevette?”

On the way back from the Hogsmeade owlery, Asahi stopped for an extra bag of owl treats, new quills, a bottle of black ink, and a fresh package of parchment.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, pumpkin! Hope you enjoyed and sorry for gifting you with a chore! *Sweats nervously*
> 
> Hope the rest of you enjoyed it, too, and I made it a series with the intention of someday adding kagehinas, daisugas, and maaaaybe more asanoya. I also got a request for more Suga/Asahi backstory....so things are happening. Hit me up on [tumblr](http://jellyryans.tumblr.com/) if ya want!


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